


Diary Page of a Phone Sex Man

by TT40_Angst_Queen



Series: WLIIA AU's [11]
Category: Whose Line Is It Anyway? RPF
Genre: M/M, Phone Sex Operator!Greg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-05
Updated: 2017-06-05
Packaged: 2018-11-09 13:40:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11105715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TT40_Angst_Queen/pseuds/TT40_Angst_Queen
Summary: Greg told his boss that the Phone Sex Hotlines number was too close to the Suicide Hotline number. His boss didn't listen. Thank god he didn't.





	Diary Page of a Phone Sex Man

“Goodnight Mr. Meakin,” Greg sighed. “No, sir. I will not go out to dinner with you,” Greg rolled his eyes at the question he was asked multiple times daily.

“Because you called me to get your rocks off, not to romance me slowly with cheap music and cheaper wine.” Greg chuckled. “I know because you have to get your jolly time whacking off to my voice.” Greg heard the click of the phone, and grinned.

He would call back. He was a regular. Greg may be a sarcastic bastard, but he was _very good_ at his job, as many people could attest to.

 

Greg worked ten hours a day at this job as a phone sex operator, and by now, he was used to gaining a stiffie almost every time he came to work. Now was no exception.

He looked at his office door, making sure it was locked, before grinning. He reached down to unzip his pants, and pulled down the zipper. He had just pulled his woody out of his pants when, to his frustration, the client phone rang. Greg rolled his eyes behind purple tinted glasses, and exhaled heavily.

He didn't bother tucking himself back into his pants, and just reached for the phone.

 

“My name's Greg,” Greg purred, ignoring his erection, “How may I please you tonight?” he heard a person sniffing on the other end, and he raised an eyebrow.

 

“Hello? You ok dude?” Greg inquired, starting to get concerned when all he got was a sob. He felt his erection shrivel up and die faster then if he stuck it in Arctic ice water.

 

 _“P-please…”_ Greg sat up straight in his chair, his attention now completely riveted on the voice on the other end of the phone. The breath seemed to catch in his throat;

 

This wasn't the first time this had happened in the eight years he had done this job, and it never got any better, or easier.

 

He told his boss that their number was too similar to the the suicide hotlines number.

 

 _“I--I don't want to die…”_ Greg bit his lip. He didn't want this guy to die either, especially over the phone with him.

 

“I don't want you to die either, sir,” Greg spoke hoarsely, and he heard a wet chuckle from the man at the other end of the phone line;

 

 _“Why the hell do you care? You're paid to talk me outta’ this.”_ The man's voice was deep, and smoky. Greg could tell it was not entirely natural, probably from years of drinking and smoking. Greg twisted his mouth into a smirk that was empty of any humor.

 

“I don't, actually,” Greg snorted, “You called the sexual hotline, not the suicide hotline.” He heard another sob at that, a Greg bit his lip, cursing himself; he shouldn't have done that. He knew that this was fragile, and he really didn't want to be the cause of someone killing himself. _Well. He wouldn't be the cause, he would have just, helped it along._ Greg mentally shot the voice in his head that mentioned that, and sighed.

 

“Look dude, I'm sorry…” he heard a small chuckle from the man. _I don't even know his name_.

 

 _“Not your fault, I'm the one too stupid to even dial in a number, right?”_ Greg shook his head.

 

“No you're really not--” the man continued over him, ignoring Greg.

 

 _“I mean, how many suicidal people do you get on a_ **_sex hotline_ ** _?”_ Greg laughed;

 

“You would be surprised,” he spoke, his voice brimming with amusement.

 

He heard a sniff, then silence. It lasted long enough that Greg got nervous, afraid the guy just kicked his own bucket.

 

 _“I don't know what to do…”_ Greg barely heard the murmured sentence, even in the silence that enveloped them. The situation seemed surreal, and Greg knew that for once, he couldn't afford to mess this up with snarky words and a silver tongue.

 

“What do you mean? What do you want to do?” Greg spoke calmly, and went to cross his legs before he realized that he hadn't done up his pants yet.

 

Placing the phone on speaker, Greg tucked himself back in his pants, giving up completely on getting any 'fun’ time.

 

He heard a hitched breath on the other side, and dimly, he heard the metallic click that he heard whenever his friend Wayne took him to the gun range, insistent on Greg learning at least one type of self defence. He got a gun for for his birthday, and he was told he would get the bullets at Christmas, when he learned to shoot properly.

 

The sound of that click made Greg's heart stutter in his chest, and his breath caught.

 

 _“My name's Ryan, Ryan Stiles.”_ Greg only hesitated momentarily, the rules of not giving out your last name to clients something that his boss was firm on. But right now, Greg would do anything to make sure this man, Ryan, survived.

 

“My name's Greg Proops,” Greg offers. “It's nice to meet you Ryan.”

 

He heard shifting of cloths on the other end, and the clinking of metal bullets. Not knowing whether they were being taken out or put in the gun, Greg hastened to speak;

 

“The hardest thing to do is live, you know.” Greg exclaimed hastily. Ryan responded with a dark laugh.

 

 _“Is that supposed to make me_ **_want_ ** _to live?”_ Ryan inquired, dark humor in his voice.

 

Greg panicked slightly, and he sat forward, accidentally knocking a few pens off his desk, his eyes straying to a picture of his lover on his desk. Jeff didn't know that the picture was being taken at the moment it was taken, and it made it even better.

Jeff was looking down at notes on his piano, his hair out of its usual gel and hairspray, and he was staring with great concentration at the papers in front of the keys. His dark lashes contrasted sharply with his pale skin in the black and white photo.

Looking at the photo reminded him of why he was so determined to save every suicidal person who call the sex hotline. Jeff was his first suicidal caller. He had talked him down after he thought his musical career was over, when his ex told the public he was gay. They had ended up going for coffee, and a year later they were married. He never regretted it.

 

“The hardest thing to do is to live, but the reward for living makes it so much more…incredibly easy.”  

 _“How?”_ Ryan mumbled softly, and Greg let out a relieved breath.

 

“Because there is so much out there, so many people…Do you have a lover?”  Ryan sighed.

 

 _“I--that’s why I’m here, with you--and I'm, and he--oh god--”_ Ryan gasped in sobs, and Greg heard the sound of metallic clinking, and  Greg felt a burst of hysteria shoot through his brain.

 

“Who's _he_? What's his name?” Greg rushed to try and control the situation, and he heard Ryan start to calm down.

 

 _“Colin...his name is Colin,”_ Ryan whimpered, _“and he hates me now.”_ Greg's hand shot up to his mouth;

_Crap. Unrequited love. Or is it?_

 

“How do you know he hates you? Did he say that?” Greg inquired, trying to settle him down.

 

 _“I told him I loved him.”_ Was Ryan's dull reply. Greg's eyebrows rose.

 

“What did he say?” Greg asked, taking another look at Jeff's picture. _I can't wait to get home to Jefferson. He's probably worried_. Greg thought, he was working way overtime at this point.

 

 _“He-he didn’t say anything,”_ Ryan croaked, and Greg almost sighed in relief. _Hope is a wonderful thing._

 

“Did you run?” Greg asked, knowingly. He heard Ryan stand up, and begin pacing.

 

 _“Yes but--”_ Greg groaned;

 

“So how do you know he doesn't feel the same?”

 

 _“I just know!”_ Ryan growled, and Greg grinned. _Good, fight back, get angry. Feel something._

 

“How long have you known each other?”

 

 _“Uh, thirty-five years on the fifth, why?”_ Ryan replied, confused. Greg smirked, and tapped his fingers on his desk, shifting a few papers around.

 

“And neither of you are married?” Greg asked with a Cheshire grin on his face, enjoying this now.

 

 _“No-”_ Greg chuckled;

 

“And I'm guessing you guys live together?” Ryan coughed, and Greg could _feel_ Ryan's blush from his end.

 

 _“For thirty years, yeah but he--”_ Greg laughed, and he heard Ryan let out a frustrated growl.

 

“Sorry dude, but- _really?_ Any man who lives with another for thirty years, never married, and I'm guessing can remember that same date you met down to the time…” Greg guffawed. “Dude, hang up the phone, go buy a rose, or whatever he likes, and talk to him,” Greg paused. “Or, fuck man, you've been living together longer than I've been married, just buy a ring, man.” Ryan went quiet for a few minutes, but Greg somehow knew he was fine.

 

 _“Really?”_ Greg smiled, and replied with a gentle; “Really.”

 

_“Ok. Goodnight Greg.”_

 

“Goodnight Ryan.”

 

Greg hang up, and sighed. _What a night._

 

Picking up his cell phone, Greg dialed a number he knew by heart.

 

“ _Hello?”_

 

“Hey babe, you won't believe the day I had….”

  
  



End file.
